


color crimson in my eyes

by scepticallyopenminded



Series: Alpha Stiles [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everybody Lives, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Spells & Enchantments, Star Wars References, Temporary Character Death, bc i'm cool like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: “Does this – ” Stiles hears Scott start, but that’s when – fuck, when it hits, and Stiles doubles over, cramps running through his entire lower body and he nearly takes a tumble as his body convulses. Over the flames he can see Derek with wide eyes, head slightly tipped toward the sky and looking like he can’t breathe, but that’s all Stiles gets before his vision blurs out. He can feel the energy running through is body like never before, a hundred times worse than it has been and he legitimately feels like he’s being ripped apart, like he’s exploding into a million pieces. A sharp, awful pain rips through his skull, and then he does fall over.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was forced into the realization early this morning that my humanity, and the humanity of millions of Americans, is apparently worth nothing to about 50% of the US population. I'm scared. Maybe you're scared. If you aren't scared, maybe try figuring out why you aren't scared; even if you aren't in the US, this election directly and indirectly affects you, too. Please practice some self care today if you can. I feel dead inside, angry, worried, ashamed. Find resources if you need to.
> 
> I finished this yesterday but spent last night in a hell of a nervous breakdown and panic so. But here it is, anyway. This is how I'm going to cope. 
> 
> There'll be a short epilogue added soon; like today, or tomorrow at the latest. 
> 
> Title from "Bloodstream" by Ed Sheeran

“Can you read this?” Stiles asks, passing over a large, old book to Derek, who’s sitting at the kitchen table. He takes the book, eyebrows raised looks down at the page Stiles has it opened to. Lydia, who’s sitting next to Derek, leans over to look at it also, and after a moment of reading they both look up to Stiles, who’s at the stove stirring some mixture of water and various powders that’s smelling more and more like cinnamon hot chocolate the longer it boiled, even though it’s a bright purple in colour. They’re back at Stiles’ house, since he’s already got the ingredients he needs for the potion, and the rest of the pack is out back, building a fire.

“I thought you already read this?” Derek replies, worry overtaking his expression. Stiles shrugs, back turned on both of them as he answers.

“I know the basics of it but I just want to make sure that I’m getting this right. I don’t know Chinese nearly as well as you do.”

“Are you telling us that you were going to do this spell without actually knowing how it worked?” Lydia asks, voice high and tight. Stiles stops mixing the boiling pot to turn around, half-hearted smile on his face.

“Lyds, yes. This is my...this is my only chance that I’ve been able to find, and I researched the hell out of it. If you know anything better, let me know, but I don’t, and I honestly don’t know how much longer I can live with this much magic in my body. Even with an anchor it feels like I’m going to blow at any moment.”

Both Lydia and Derek look at him with expressions of heartbreak, and Stiles turns his back again, turning off the stove and stirring because there’s only so much he can take from his friends. He’s quite confident in everything going well and being able to transfer the alpha back over to Derek without a problem, but they obviously don’t feel the same way. Sixty-seven percent chance he tells himself, a statistic he’s been chanting to himself since figuring it out early that morning.

“Guys,” he continues slowly, pouring the now-turquoise liquid into two glasses, “I don’t want to die, and you don’t want me to die. Need I remind you of the odds?”

He sets the pot in the sink and turns again to face the other two. They’re both staring back at him, looking equally frustrated, worried, and angry. After a long moment they both shake their heads, Lydia slowly and Derek quickly, and look back down at the book. Stiles sighs, turning around and grabbing the cups and the two powders he’s set off to the side, setting them on the kitchen table and sitting down on the other side of Derek, who leans toward him, eyes not straying from the page. Stiles leans back in unison, immediately feeling the calming effects of his presence.

“I could translate the potion easily enough, ingredients and numbers aren’t hard, but there’s that – ” he points to the second paragraph after the list, “And onward that it gets choppy for me.”

“We need the potion and a fire…then the magician – you – needs to say _this_ ,” Derek gestures to a phrase, “Over the potion. The one with the powers drinks the potion with the…the aconite?”

Derek pauses, raising both eyebrows, while Lydia looks up with a smirk on her face.

“Yes, aconite,” Stiles sighs, leaning closer to Derek hoping to further calm the energy trying to force its way out, “Don’t worry, it’s in the potion for a reason, obviously, and anyway, I’m going to be the drinking it.”

“It’s poisonous to anyone who ingests it,” Lydia points out, “Humans too. It’s just a werewolf’s kryptonite.”

Stiles can’t help the grin he throws at Lydia for the reference before shaking his head.

“Right, but it’s in the potion for a reason, and my new magic could heal the wounds that made Derek _die_ before. I’m pretty sure it can protect me from a little wolfsbane.”

Lydia shakes her head, looking back down at the text, but Derek stares at him for a long moment before snuffling, reaching out and pulling Stiles into his lap. Stiles, for his part, flails and nearly falls at one point, but Derek easily catches him, shoving his nose into Stiles’ neck.

“Really,” Stiles says as Lydia snorts, glancing at them. Derek just snuffles again, hooking his chin around Stiles’ shoulder and continuing to translate.

“So the other ‘wolf drinks the potion with the…I’m not sure what this word is?”

“Asafoetida. It’s a powder used in a lot of rituals like this, especially old ones, it accelerates and increases the power of the spell.”

“Good to know,” Derek comments, arm wrapped tightly around Stiles’ middle, “Asafoetida. They both have to sit on opposite sides of the fire which has been sprinkled while some rowan is being burned – wolfsbane and mountain ash? What is this spell?”

“It’s one that’s bound to work,” Stiles argues, leaning back against Derek and sighing, “It’s one obviously made for werewolves.”

Derek grumbles for a moment before looking back at the text.

“While some rowan is being burned, and the magician has to say the same words they said over the potion.”

He stops, and Stiles turns his head to look at him.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Lydia confirms, pulling the book toward her as both boys look her way. She stares down at the text, sharp red fingernail tracing the words, “Are you one hundred percent sure you made the potion correctly?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, leaning forward and reaching over to grab the two cups, “I’m sure. And it just _feels_ like it’s right.” He slides the cups over, placing one in front of Derek and taking hold of the two vials of powder, one grey, one dark purple.

“We need to pour these in our drinks just before we’re ready,” he says, handing the grey ash to Derek, who’s staring at the purple vial with suspicion.

“Derek.” Stiles slides off his lap and into his own seat again so he can face Derek head on, “Dude, I would never do anything that would hurt you or jeopardize our pack. You know this, right?”

Derek’s eyes slide from the purple powder to Stiles’ face, expression softening and he nods.

“Of course. I just…don’t have good experiences with either of these.”

Stiles snorts, taking hold of Derek’s hand again.

“Of course you don’t. But trust me. This spell will work, okay? I feel good about it.”

And he _does_ , he’s not just saying that; he can feel it in his very bones, his magic settling and a spark of hope floating somewhere within him.

“I do trust you,” Derek replies, leaning over to kiss him, which settles Stiles’ magic down even further.

“I get that you two are newly involved and all that, but I don’t know that that gives you an excuse for all the PDA I’ve had to endure in the past ten minutes.”

Lydia’s voice pulls them apart, and Derek turns sheepishly toward her even as he keeps Stiles right next to him.

“Okay,” Stiles smiles, seeing the softness of Lydia’s smirk, and her eyes look relatively happy, even amongst all the worry, that the pack made it through another threat almost unscathed, “So the spell then?”

“I’m fairly certain it has to be said in Chinese, that we can’t just translate it and say it in English.” Lydia’s instantly back in research mode, eyes dropping to the page and skimming it again.

“And even if we weren’t so sure, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of not saying it in Chinese, not when there’s a chance you could die from the smallest mistake,” Derek continues, “But the problem is you can’t speak Chinese.”

“Easy enough,” Stiles shrugs, “I’m a quick learner and it’s just one phrase.”

“It has to be said perfectly,” Lydia says, both she and Derek looking carefully at Stiles, “One mistake could ruin the entire thing.”

“You know you’re not going to talk me out of this, right?” Stiles leans into Derek’s side, and his smile turns wrier, “There’s a _sixty-seven_ percent chance this works, and that’s a statistic that’s really good. We’re going to do our best and everything will be okay.”

Lydia rolls her eyes a little, Derek pulls him closer to his side.

“Well then we’ll just teach you how to say it perfectly,” he says to Stiles, just as the Sheriff walks into the kitchen, expression suspicious.

“What’s going on?” he asks immediately, glancing out the window into the backyard where a fire is starting to roar, “Anything I need to know about?”

“Nothing, Dad,” Stiles says, knowing that the Argent’s hadn’t had a chance to tell his dad about the entire situation before he’d disappeared, and everything had gone down fast enough since then that he hadn’t had enough time to be suspicious. Stiles tenses against Derek’s side, throwing a quick head shake at both Derek and Lydia, “Just supernatural stuff. We’ll let you know if you need to intervene, but I think we’ve all but taken care of it.”

John still looks suspicious, but only mildly so, and after a glance at the other two, who both give him a small, if tired, smile, he nods, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Alright. Can you keep it down? I’m going to catch a little sleep before I have to go back into work. Murder case over in Beacon Valley took half the force over to help out so we’re all pulling doubles right now.”

“Gotcha Dad. We’ll be quiet. You want anything to eat, a sandwich or some leftover lasagne from the other night?”

John shakes his head.

“I’m good for now. I’ll eat something when I get up again.”

“Alright. Sleep well.”

“G’night, sir,” Derek comments, and Lydia gives another small smile and nod of her head. John waves to them all, turning to leave as Stiles jumps up from his seat, quickly disconnecting himself from Derek.

“Wait, Dad.”

John turns around to find himself in a tight hug, which he returns after a moment and processing what’s going on.

“You okay, son?”

Stiles lets go slowly after a long hug, nodding and smiling.

“Just been a while since I hugged you is all. Sleep well.”

John looks more suspicious at that, but after another glance at the other two, just nods again, patting Stiles on the shoulder.

“Night, Stiles.”

“Night,” Stiles returns, watching his dad throw them all one last look before walking into the living room. He waits until he hears his dad walk up the stairs before turning around again to find the other’s staring at him judgingly.

“Everything’s going to be totally okay and he has a lot on his plate,” Stiles shrugs, “He doesn’t need to worry himself over this, it really is nothing.”

Neither Lydia nor Derek looks convinced at this logic, but neither of them says anything either.

“Just – let’s teach you these words,” Derek finally speaks up, gesturing for Stiles to sit back down.

He does, after a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, the tightness in his shoulders levelling up just a bit.

****

It’s forty minutes later, a half hour of that spent teaching Stiles how to say the spell _just right_ , that the entire pack is standing in the backyard, the sun starting to set. The fire is roaring, a few chunks of rowan freshly thrown in (“You just have mountain ash logs around?” Scott questioned, the rest of the pack looking equally as confused at this, “Why not just use the powdered kind?” “Because the powder would burn up just like that,” Stiles replied, snapping his fingers to make the point, “The logs will burn slower, allowing the spell to take its time and the magic to work its way slowly out of the wood. And yes, I have them just laying around, specifically for things like this, and also so I can make my own mountain ash powder if I need to.”), and the powders have been added to the cups of potion, the spell said carefully over them as Stiles’ hands lit up, glowing and making the turquoise liquid momentarily glow too.

“You ready for this?” It’s Stiles who eventually asks, grasping the cup in his hand tightly, the realization that _they are actually doing this he is actually doing this_ finally dawning for real on him, the realization that though he’s ninety percent sure everything will turn out fine, there’s a slim chance he’s going to _die_. For real. The end. Death.

“I’ll never be ready for your possible death,” Derek replies, the one who’s closest to him, who’s one hand is holding his own cup and the other is holding Stiles’ free hand. Stiles can feel the warmth of his skin, the grounding of his closeness, though his magic has started to truly roughen up again with the peak and end of this spell in sight.

Stiles can see the distressed looks on the rest of the pack’s faces, mixes of worry and anger and frustration and more worry and sadness, as they stand in a half-circle facing Derek and himself, and Lydia is the first to break that formation, launching herself toward him and hugging him. He almost drops the potion in his hand, and Derek lets go of his other hand to grab the cup and let him hug Lydia back.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he tells her, trying to convince himself as much as her, but she just squeezes tighter, her grip surprisingly strong for being five-three and relatively petite. Scott’s next, stepping in for his own hug and “Love you, bro,” as soon as Lydia steps away.

“You too,” Stiles returns, a sudden worsening of the influx of worry and slight despair flooding his system; while he and the pack could feel each other’s feelings, it was near twice and strong between the two alphas, which were he and Scott right then. _No wonder Scott and Derek were at each other’s throats more often when Scott became an alpha_ , Stiles thinks briefly as Scott steps back; between the werewolf instincts and the alpha instincts and constantly having to feel each other’s feelings, especially when Scott and Derek were such opposite personalities and leadership styles, it had to have been hard to get used to.

Allison fills in the space Scott leaves almost immediately, then it’s Malia, and Erica, and the rest of the pack.

“Alright?” Stiles says once Isaac has stepped back, sniffling. He looks over to Derek, eyebrows raised and hand out for the cup, which Derek hands to him after a moment, his lips pressed together and brow drawn.

“Alright,” he eventually says, and Stiles steps forward into his space, leaning up the inch to kiss him softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, and watches as Derek’s expression nearly crumbles, closing his eyes and swallowing.

“I love you too,” Derek breaths back after another moment, opening his eyes and looking at Stiles sincerely. They stay like that for just another second longer before Stiles nods toward the fire.

“C’mon.”

They make their way to opposite sides of the fire, and sitting down, Stiles can just see Derek through the flickering flames. His expression is shut off, obviously worried, and he’s staring right back at Stiles. Stiles licks his lips, lifts his eyes as the rest of the pack forms a circle around them; from his spot he can see Isaac’s and Erica’s devastation, their hands tightly linked, Lydia and Malia as similar as ever in their tight, carefully constructed emotionless-yet-worried expressions. He can feel Scott to his right, Boyd behind him and Kira and Allison to his left, close together. Cora stands behind Derek, eyes flickering between him and Stiles, and she gives Stiles an encouraging smile when their eyes meet, though he can tell it doesn’t reach her own. When he looks back at Derek, the man’s still staring at him, expression eerily stable.

“Okay,” Stiles says again, and carefully repeats the spell. The fire turns a bright green for a roaring minute, the heat of it dropping off suddenly. He brings the glass with his half of the potion to his lips, meets Derek’s eyes again as he drinks, Derek doing the mirror image of him. He winces a little at the taste – not terrible, just a little like burnt coffee, vanilla, maybe a hint of anise or liquorice thrown into the mix. After he’s swallowed it all, he drops the glass into the grass next to him, waiting as he watches Derek finish his own half.

For a full moment, nothing happens – the fire is still cool rather than hot, but has returned to its orangey-red hue. Stiles feels no different, and Derek cocks his head to the side, obviously also feeling the effects – which are, weirdly, nothing.

“Does this – ” Stiles hears Scott start, but that’s when – fuck, when it hits, and Stiles doubles over, cramps running through his entire lower body and he nearly takes a tumble as his body convulses. Over the flames he can see Derek with wide eyes, head slightly tipped toward the sky and looking like he can’t breathe, but that’s all Stiles gets before his vision blurs out. He can feel the energy running through is body like never before, a hundred times worse than it has been and he legitimately feels like he’s being ripped apart, like he’s exploding into a million pieces. A sharp, awful pain rips through his skull, and then he _does_ fall over.

And, just as suddenly as it all started it stops, except that Stiles’ vision is gone and the last thing he feels is a compressing on his chest, like his lungs have completely deflated, and then he passes out.

***

When Stiles was little, before he could depend on himself to wake up and get up to an alarm, his mom would wake him up for school every day, always by sitting on the edge of his bed and gently shaking him and saying his name quietly until he would blink awake, always to her smiling face telling him it was time to get up and she had made pancakes or waffles or oatmeal.

This is what Stiles thinks of as he slowly comes to consciousness, except his name is being said _much_ more urgently and the shaking is not quite so gentle and anyway, his mom had always used his real name, never called him “Stiles”.

“Stiles, c’mon, wake up, damn it,” is what he’s hearing from a low and gruffer voice on one side, the other a higher pitched “Stiles, fuck, someone call nine-one-one, see if we can reach Deaton, fuck,” and Stiles forces his eyelids open even though they must weigh a hundred pounds each, and his eyes feel drier than a desert, and his head hurts like a motherfucker.

“Oh my – Stiles, thank god,” comes the first voice and _Derek_ slowly comes into focus. Lydia is kneeling at his other side and there’s Scott squatting by his feet and Stiles is lying down only half on top of Derek, and Erica’s face shows up behind Lydia’s and then there’s the rest of the pack, peeps of their faces coming into view around him, all equally looking worried and relieved.

“Stiles,” Scott says from his place, “We thought we lost you there for a second, your heartbeat – ” He stops, obvious tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat.

“Man,” Stiles starts, trying to make a joke as he blinks back up at Derek and Lydia, but Derek is obviously close to tears and Lydia is as worried as he’s ever seen her and Erica and Isaac each have a couple of actual tears on their cheeks and he can’t joke about anything, not when they’re like this.

“I,” Stiles tries to sit up, this time, but _can’t_ , his entire body hurts, exhausted and sore like he’s just finished a ten-hour workout. Derek seems to get it, though, slowly helping him into a sitting position and then leaning Stiles against himself.

“What – what happened?” Stiles asks, voice raspy, as soon as he’s slumped into Derek’s side. The entire pack shifts, all hovering around him and yet closer and suddenly all within his eyesight. He’s vaguely aware that the fire is out, only burning embers left behind, and the sun is somewhat lower in the background of this all, and yet even as exhausted as he is he feels _better_ , softer around the edges and less like an overfilled, about-to-pop balloon of energy.

“You – fainted. Um. Passed out,” Kira tries, biting her lip and gulping against an obvious lump in her throat. Silence falls for another minute, Stiles still blinking awake, and its Derek who speaks next, softly.

“Your heart stopped,” he bites out, holding Stiles as tightly as he can, “For nearly a full minute, your heart just…stopped.”

Stiles takes a moment, looks around at each of their faces, where varying amounts of worry, relief, and…anger reside. But it’s worry, relief, and anger he can barely feel himself; the type a magical being can feel, not the type a pack’s alpha can.

“But…it worked?” he goes with, looking up at Derek, who flashes his eyes red in response. A flood of relief flows through Stiles, as well as something else.

“God that’s hot,” Stiles can’t help but say, and once the rest of the pack gets what he’s talking about he’s met with groans and eye rolls and a “really, Stiles?” Once they all settle again, Scott grins at him, patting him on the knee.

“Good to know you’re back, buddy.”

As automatic as ever, Stiles grins back.

“How do you feel?” Lydia asks, and Stiles sits up some more, as much as he can from where Derek’s still got quite a hold on him though he can feel his strength being slowly regained.

“Better. So much. I’m sore and drained from the spell, but. I’m not going to explode and take half the town with me anymore.”

“And your magic?” Derek asks softly, and Stiles looks back to him to see so much worry still in his eyes. Stiles’ grin goes softer, and he reaches one of his hands to grasp the one Derek doesn’t have around his waist.

“It’s good. Without the alpha thing, I just feel…good. Powerful, but I can control it.”

There’s a deep sigh from Derek, who closes his eyes and presses his lips against Stiles’ temple. The tenseness of the pack slowly starts to leak out as they all sit and stand there in silence, and after a few moments it’s Allison who gets up, walks over to the bucket of water they’d prepared and pours it carefully over the still smouldering embers of the fire pit. Stiles feels his shoulders sag somewhat in the relief and realization that it’s over, for real it’s over, and it was _successful_ even if he nearly died there for a second, though he doesn’t (yet) know the long-term effects of the spell on his body or on Derek’s. For a moment, at least, he can breathe.

***

It's later when they’re all bundled up in the Stilinski living room, a slight chill in the air for an unseasonably cool August night causing them to cuddle together a bit more than they usually would have (though no one’s complaining, the pack bond always secured further by some “seriously adorable pack cuddles”, as Erica had called them once), each drinking some warm drink along the lines of tea, or hot chocolate, or even a couple of them coffee, the caffeine barely enough to affect a metabolism that burns through anything that enters a werewolf’s body, that Stiles speaks up from where he’s leaning against Derek’s chest on the couch, his and Erica’s legs entangled.

“You know, I think this puts me one up on the ‘who’s nearly died the most’ competition.”

It takes a moment, but then there’s a growl from Derek and a groan from others and Erica takes advantage of their closeness to kick him in the thigh at the same time that Isaac, from where he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, punches him in the arm solidly.

“Ow,” Stiles complains, bundling himself up into the foetal position for a moment to tend to his wounds – he knows they weren’t hitting him with all their force, they’ve more than learned their lesson about fragile human healing and their own strength, but he’s no doubt he’ll have at least a slight bruise in both places.

“That’s not funny,” Lydia is the first to speak up about it, and she’s all out glaring at him, but he can feel the underlying contentment of the entire pack and he knows they’re not actually mad at him, at all. It only gets better when Derek sits up a bit more, taking a sip of his tea.

“You all may be doing great on the _almost_ dying front, but a reminder I’m the only one here who’s _actually died_.”

Lydia turns her glare to him as most of the pack groans again, a couple of them snarling at the thought. Stiles looks toward him with a scowl of his own.

“That’s _not_ funny,” he tells Derek, who shrugs with raised eyebrows and takes another drink, not even flinching when Cora is the one to smack him.

It’s quiet for a moment as everyone takes this in, and Stiles breaks the silence with a quiet, “I’m glad you’re alive again, though,” and leans further into his space, and Derek gladly accepts it, laying a gentle kiss onto the top of Stiles’ head.

“Yeah” “True” “Definitely” are the resounding agreements with this statement, and Derek responds with a soft smile and, “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Stiles leans his head far enough back to kiss Derek on the lips this time, and where everyone seemed ready to agree with Derek this time instead there are groans and sighs and an elongated “Ewwww” from Scott and a wolf-whistle from Erica.

“You guys are going to be very PDA for the next little bit, aren’t you?” Cora is the one to ask, an amused smirk on her face.

Derek doesn’t say anything but Stiles shrugs even as the two continue to just look at each other; Derek isn’t much into PDA, but this is _pack_ , he considers them family more than “public”. Stiles, well, Stiles just thinks that he’s incredibly lucky, and wants to share with the entire _world_ that he bagged this man; how fucking lucky is he?

They shift topics then, onto how the clean up of Cassius’s minions and the building, which Argent and some of his friends were doing, as Allison filled them in, and eventually they agreed on a movie to watch, slipping into the evening of pack bonding, everyone feeling the heavy relief that things were settled, again and at least for now.


	2. Epilogue

**Five Months Later**

“Anakin? Are you serious?” Stiles asks, sitting back from where he’d been leaning into Derek with a confused look. “He’s, like, _actually_ Darth Vader!”

Derek shrugs as Erica starts laughing from where she’s sitting, Malia rolling her eyes and Boyd watching with as much amusement as he’s ever shown.

“Yeah, but only because he was emotionally manipulated. He was the strongest Jedi to date and the Emperor _used_ him.”

“Just because he was manipulated doesn’t mean that he’s without blame. Even if he is, how is that enough to make him your _favourite_ character? When there’s fucking _Leia_ and the new trio in the mix?”

Derek cocks his head to the side, eyebrows raised because at his boyfriend.

“I mean, those four are definitely up there, you know how much I love Rey, we’ve watched that movie together at least six times,” he responds, “But I just…I feel like a lot of Anakin’s characterization and goodness was lost within his manipulation. The writers overlooked it and the audience overlooked it. And I feel kind of…like kin with him, I guess.”

Stiles’ expression softens at the admission, and he leans back into Derek, only to grumble, “Well, at least you can admit you love Rey.”

“You know how much I do,” Derek agrees, folding his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pulling him a little closer.

“Well, fuck what y’all say, Finn’s the best Star Wars character in the history of forever and always will be,” Erica speaks up, and Stiles is back at it.

“But _Leia_!” he tries again, and everyone is laughing as the loft door opens. Derek’s nose twitches as he takes in the scent of – the bitter scent of fear, the coppery scent of blood, the slightly sweet scent of confusion. He turns quickly toward the door, which is placed to his right, ready to protect his pack from what it may be – but it’s only Allison, Kira, Isaac and Scott.

“So,” Allison speaks up as they all come into the loft; Allison’s and Kira’s hair are tangled messes, Isaac’s face a stark white, and Scott’s arms and face are marked up with tiny scratches, slowly healing.

“What the hell happened to you?” Stiles asks as he, Derek, Erica, Malia, and Boyd all get up, the immediate spark of attention and worry flowing through the pack bond.

“What do we know about pixies?” Kira asks, and a series of groans fill the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolololol I can't believe I finished this I am so incredibly ashamed at how long it took me. 
> 
> So my plan now is to go back and rewrite a lot of the first chapters; they feel rushed and out of sync with the rest of the piece at this point. I'm probably going to lengthen them a lot and give them more substance. be on the lookout for that! 
> 
> other than that I'm going to be working on WIP's that are in my shit rn; my vamp series (maybe I'll turn into a chaptered instead), that one I posted in like May, all the other shit I'm working on. 
> 
> find me at [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com/) as always

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com/)
> 
> message me words of hope and I'm here if anyone needs to talk


End file.
